


vigil

by shadoedseptmbr



Series: Deeper Than All Roses [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Conflict of Interests, F/M, from the beyond quest, fun with elvhen, practicality versus faith, vigils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadoedseptmbr/pseuds/shadoedseptmbr
Summary: Cullen standing watch, again.  Nyx makes amends.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Deeper Than All Roses [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/924288
Kudos: 9





	vigil

He rarely dallied these days, when the watchtowers sent word that the Inquisitor and her companions were approaching Skyhold. But quick as he’d moved, she was already gone from the courtyard when he arrived.

Cassandra, Varric, and Bull had accompanied Nyx to the Plains and they were slower to dismount, their mounts looking blown. Her own, the little Dalish All-Bred she’d named Tilda, was being led away by Master Dennet; the old man frowning as he spoke softly to her.

“What’s happened? Do I need to alert the guard to watch for pursuit?” His hand was already raised, ready to give the command to the troops he knew were watching.

“It’s not that, Commander.” Cassandra shook her head. “We’re in no immediate danger.”

“Been riding like something was chasing us, but near as we could tell it wasn’t any different than usual.” Varric shrugged, but he was still watching the stairs as if something might still follow.

Cullen cast about. “Then…where is the Inquisitor? Cassandra, what is going on?”

“We did a favor for that tribe of Dalish that was camped on the Plains. Walking dead had infested their burial ground.”

Frustrated, he interrupted again, “Was she injured, what…”

“Allow me to catch my breath, Commander.” He raised his hands in surrender and she continued. “It was simple enough, we were nearly done.”

“It was on me, Cullen.” Bull interrupted, this time. “Swung that new maul too hard and it broke open a grave when it split that corpse.”

Cassandra nodded. “It summoned demons, we’d killed them before we realized we’d desecrated a tomb. The Keeper of the clan there rebuked her. Rather cruelly, if you would like my opinion. She’s hardly spoken since. Last night…”

Varric finished when Cassandra trailed off, “Pack of wolves came down on the camp. Big things, like we saw in the Hinterlands? She made us bust up camp and we’ve been running since.”

Cullen looked over the troop. Even Cassandra was exhausted, worn from the unexpected sprint. He excused himself, allowing the lesser stable hands to take the other mounts and strode in the direction of the main hall, where they pointed him.

The stonemason pointed to the doors to the herb garden when Cullen stopped to inquire. Nyx wasn’t in the garden, though, when Cullen got there. The Chantry members were mostly going about their business in the scented air, but Mother Giselle was speaking quietly with the elven gardener and smiled sadly when he approached. “You’ve missed her, Commander.”

“She took some herbs from the patch and went to the Grove, ser,” the gardener added.

The elves that had begun to show up at Skyhold as their reputations grew, had turned a small circle of alder and fir trees that grew a mile or so down the flatter southern slope of Skyhold’s perch into their devotional place. There were small saplings on the edge, now. Dedications to the lost. Several effigies had been erected, since he’d last inspected the site. The Chantry members had made objections, of course, but Nyx had listened with an air of sympathy and simply explained that outside of their own faithful, there would be no attempt to interfere. Or she would have to take firmer measures. Mother Giselle had put an end to the objections, then.

Nyx had left a light trail in the snow, easily enough for Cullen to follow. The wind had turned bitter last night, and it moaned around the peaks above them, swirling icy gusts closer to the ground.  
He passed a crudely carved howling wolf and two intricately stacked stone markers before he saw her figure flicker through the trees.

Nyx’s narrow, muscular back was to him, shoulders curved and bent as if under a weight. Her slender brown feet were bare on the frozen ground, furlined boots left outside of the sheltering grove along with her hilts and daggers.

He might not share her faith, but Cullen knew the feeling of being weighed down by perceived sin- guilt - as well as any. Nothing for it but to seek absolution. He coughed to draw her attention and she snapped around, clearly startled by his appearance.

_Maker_. He wasn’t sure he’d seen her in such pain since she’d returned from Redcliffe, the memory of the avoided future written on her face, her mouth lined with grief and the warmth that usually bloomed in her cheeks had faded, leaving her freckles stark against ashen skin.

Even her low, warm voice was hollow. “Cullen, I need to be alone for a while.”

He stopped her, holding his hand up. “I do not mean to interrupt. But you are _very_ alone out here and you’re distracted. All I ask is…may I keep watch?”

Something lightened in her stance, and she looked up at him to search his face. He resisted the urge to touch her. Her dark hair was wet, as if she’d washed. He could smell pine and…sage? There might be requirements. He made no claim to purity.

Hesitantly, she asked, “You would…do that?” She glanced back over her shoulder at the altar where her footprints showed a path beaten around it in the damp, cold earth. She'd paused in her procession, as if she'd had to stop and listen, already.

“I have some experience, keeping watch over vigils.” He reminded her, solemnly. “This is a much better use of that proficiency.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Thank you.” Nyx ghosted his glove with the tips of her own long fingers before she turned away.

Cullen settled into an old, familiar stance as wisps of scented smoke; the green of the herbs and something else with a darker, sickly odor that crackled when it caught fire, drifted out of the grove. He caught a few of the words she whispered, recognized Falon’Din as the guardian… _friend, though_? Yes, friend of the dead. And Fen’Harel; the dread wolf they swore by, whose sculpture was common on the Plains and in the Emerald Graves.

Nyx had gotten fond of them, looming over her. They’d spoken of them when she returned, one quiet evening. “Feels different than the little ones we set outside the edge of camp. Companions to the Emerald Knights…that’s what they feel like. Companions.” She’d touched the tip of her ears and smiled.

“Do you need a wolfish companion then?” He’d teased

She informed him pertly, “There are hunters who have them, still, or an ability to call wolves to their aid, at least. But it’s a knack my clan lost somewhere. Maybe I can find someone to teach me, one day.”

The weak winter sun dropped low behind the mountains as he remembered and Nyx’s whispers had faded to silence before Cullen shifted on his feet and glanced up to realize she was standing next to him, adjusting the tie on her boot.

“Shall we go?” He assumed she was finished but he waited until she answered.

Nyx nodded. Still quiet, then. He stepped in behind her, waiting until after they’d passed the markers and reached the main road before he spoke again. “Bull says…”

“It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident. I was...” From the corner of his eye, Cullen saw her grimace. “I was the one who made the decision to open the rest of the tombs.”

“The rest?”

“There were six graves, with pieces of some sort of key. When I saw what was in the first one…I couldn’t take the chance that the Venatori could get their hands on some weapon for Corypheus. I put the needs of Thedas over the traditions of the People.” She sounded angry.

“That is…I’m sorry. “ He stopped and admitted, “It is likely that this will not be the last time.”

It took a moment and they had walked farther along the road before she sighed. “I know,“ she paused. “Cassandra left her Seekers, you left the Templars. Dorian, even. All of you, for good reasons.” Hard, icy snow crackled under their steps for minutes before Nyx continued. “My reasons were maybe not so good. But I don’t think I can go back now.”

“Because of this, the graves?”

Nyx nodded, shortly. “Because of this. And this.” She wiggled the fingers on her Marked hand. “And other things.

“My Keeper told me…after my mother returned to the city…that being Dalish was written on our hearts, as well as our faces. That even if I chose to go with her, I would always be of the People. That even the city born sometimes find themselves being Dalish, even when they don’t know what it means. So they come looking.”

She didn't often speak of them and he admitted to some curiosity. “Your mother was one such?”

“Oh, no. She was never Dalish. She just had the misfortune of falling in love with one.” The smile Nyx sent him was twisted. A jest, then…but a pointed one.

“Walking with Hawen’s clan…my Keeper is much more relaxed but I could never go back to just being a hunter. I’ve not years enough to be _hahren_ , yet. And I haven’t a drop of magic. The mark…it’s neither nor. I can touch the Fade but not in any way useful to the People. Like my mother, the skills and talents I have aren’t Dalish. I’m neither fish nor fowl, now.”

“I know something of that.”

That stopped her and she looked him square in the face, bright green eyes focused on him and her brows lifted. After a moment, she nodded, “Yes, I suppose you do.”

Slowly, as it was still a new thing Cullen was able to do and he was hesitant to take advantage, he traced the smatter of freckles that starred her cheekbone with his thumb, smiling at the little breath she took. He turned her face gently towards the looming dark bulk of Skyhold, the flags snapping in the still blowing hard around the heights, though they were sheltered here in the lea of the wall. “Someone has told me, rather recently, that here is where we can have a chance to remake ourselves. Become something new.”

The twist of her lips softened and leaning against him, she tucked her fingers, chilled and chapped, into the crook of his arm and Cullen covered them with his own. “Using my own words against me, ah? _Ma sulahn’an_ , that’s ,i>cheating.”

“Not at all. Sound strategy. Every advantage is fair play.” _Ma sulahn’an_? That one he’d not heard yet.

Her laugh was a gift. “Lead the way, then, Commander.”

**Author's Note:**

> so a bit of a construct, but based on language found in the Wiki, ma sulahn'an means "my singer" and is Nyx's chosen term of endearment for her golden throated Commander.


End file.
